


rite of spring

by feminist14er



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Entirely ignores Season 4, F/M, grounders made them do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 02:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11221263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feminist14er/pseuds/feminist14er
Summary: The treaty between Skaikru and Floukru is great except for one small thing: their rites of spring are - unusual.





	rite of spring

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this at Easter (lol) before I watched Season 4, so it's wildly out of tune with the ending of Season 4 (and entirely ignores praimfaya, so really it's out of turn with Season 4 entirely). But I wanted to see Bellamy and Clarke do some weird Grounder ritual, while also poking at the GAPING CULTURAL HOLES in this show, so.

When the first signs of spring start to poke their heads out of the ground, Clarke feels like breathing a tremendous sigh of relief. It hasn’t been a bad winter, but she’s tired of worrying about their food supply, tired of treating every cough as though it might be the start of an outbreak, tired of freezing at night. Even with her fire burning low at night and sleeping in her clothes under pelts they traded for with the Trikru, she’s still always cold, and she’s excited to be warm again (even if that brings sunburn, and poison ivy, and all the other maladies of summer; she can think about that later).

She also knows, though, that when she sees the first crocuses blooming, it also means the Floukru are coming soon, and that makes her grit her teeth a little.

She likes Luna, she does, and she likes the rest of the Floukru, especially the children they’ve taken in. But even still, she does not love that part of their trade agreement, for all that it has brought them new knowledge and skills (fishing has been especially important in helping them through the winter along the coast), also involves them participating in the spring time ritual. For all that Luna broke with the rest of the Grounders when she fled the Nightblood trials, she still feels very strongly about the rest of their rituals, and part of their accord had been that the Skaikru would host the spring ritual.

Parts of it are fun; there’s a maypole, like Clarke remembers reading about. There’s good food, there’s a lot of alcohol (courtesy, as always, of Monty and Jasper, but supplemented with some berry wine that the Floukru must trade for), there’s dancing, and there’s a lot of laughing that happens. All of that is great.

What’s not great is the rest of it, which involves a lot of weird rituals that Clarke frankly thinks are bunk, but can’t say that in front of anyone except maybe Bellamy (and she knows for a fact that he also thinks it’s bunk, which is the only reason she mentions it to him).

So, when she sees the first crocuses coming up out of the ground, she simultaneously gives thanks for another season survived, another winter passing, and also dreads the coming ritual.

\--

Bellamy really doesn’t understand a lot of things about the Grounders. Okay, fine, they developed some new cultural habits in the 97 years that the Sky people were living in space, but he thinks back to some of the drier texts he read on the Ark, and he thinks it’s improbable, if not actively impossible, that the Grounders developed not only an entire language (with derivations! that seems to bare little resemblance to common English, or other languages common to the area at the time!) but also developed ceremonies and rituals that are almost entirely dissimilar to those that he thinks were practiced in much of North America before nuclear war started.

When he sees the crocus in the small jar on Clarke’s desk in medical, these thoughts drop from his mind. It’s not like there’s an option to not participate, just because it seems improbable; it doesn’t matter that it’s improbable, what matters is that the rituals are practiced, and he and Clarke are committed to them.

He knows Clarke isn’t fond of the idea, and he isn’t either. There’s nothing about him that screams spiritual or religious; for all that he knows more than most about past practices, he’s never really bought into any of it. He’s never had the _time_ , and frankly, he still doesn’t.

(Nor does he really think that he and Clarke have anything to do with the coming of the new season, that anything they do or don’t do has any impact on the type of year they have, but that’s neither here nor there).

What he does think, in the very back of his mind, is that he now better understands role of superstition in everyday life on earth. He understands why blessing the crops might seem helpful, because even if it doesn’t do _anything_ (and he really doesn’t think it does anything), it at least seems like they _tried_. And he can sympathize with that, even if he still thinks it’s ridiculous.

He also honestly resents being drawn into this, but he and Clarke continue to be seen as the informal leaders of the Skaikru, and there’s not much he can do to deny the sway they hold over the rest. Especially when the rest includes the remains of the original hundred, and they are not content to be quiet, docile subjects of the former regime.

(When he mentions the ritual to Raven, she spits out her drink laughing at him, just to be clear on how very un-docile they all are).

\--

When the first tulips bloom, Clarke sighs and starts gathering them. She’s been gathering plants for what seems like weeks now, but has probably only been ten days. They don’t keep well, but the petals do, and they are nice around the maypole, she thinks. It’s when Bellamy finds her doing this that his fists clench and his eyes dart away from her face.

“So, getting ready, then?” he asks, gesturing at the flowers and herbs in front of her.

Her eyes flick to his face and then back down. “They could be here within a week,” she says. “It’s worth being prepared, so we have less to do at the last minute.”

She watches from the corner of her eye as he nods. His hands slowly unclench, and she breathes a little easier. “What can I do?” he asks.

“We’re going to need food,” she says. “If you can hunt and take down anything big, that would be for the best.”

He nods, but it’s clear from the way he hesitates that he has more on his mind.

She looks at him, straight on this time, watches the light and shadows across his face. There’s no tension between them now, nothing like there used to be now. Now, there’s a constant electrical current, flickering under every interaction they have, and it’s particularly charged right now, knowing that the ritual is almost upon them.

She stands, her knees creaking in protest, and walks over to him. When she gets close enough, she laces their fingers together, squeezes gently. “It’s going to be fine, you know,” she says, low and quiet, and she watches his eyelashes brush his cheekbones as he glances down at their intertwined hands.

He breathes out, his shoulders finally relaxing, and he presses a kiss to their joined hands. It’s meant to be a sweet gesture, but it’s electrifying to her, and her eyes flutter closed for just a minute. “I know,” he says, and he does; he’s saying so out loud to reassure her, and it makes her smile before kissing his cheek.

\--

She’s right; Luna and the rest of the Floukru come only about a week later, just as the tulips are starting to wane, to be replaced with lilies, and it’s the pollen of those lilies that’s going to be some of what adorns them soon, and it makes Bellamy flinch a little, although he’s enraptured, as he has been every year, at the stunning beauty of these flowers, something that was brilliant without the influence of radiation, and has only been made more incredible with time and radiation.

Clarke has been gathering stargazer and peace lilies since they started blooming; they hold up better than the tulips, she says, and she also knows the uses of the pollen. She blushes ever so slightly when she mentions it, but she seems capable of remaining much steadier than Bellamy himself feels; he feels like the slightest wrong move or touch will send him into a tailspin. 

(he has rarely been so uncertain about how he feels. he has rarely felt so sure that this ritual will only muddy the waters, rather than provide clarity)

When Luna comes, Clarke does an excellent job of receiving her warmly and ensuring they have a place to stay. He sees Clarke looking at the children fondly, maybe even wistfully, and it pulls at his chest a little. He can imagine the possibility of Clarke as a mother, and it fills him with dread as much as it does longing.

Luna and the Floukru mingle with the Skaikru over the next days, allowing Abby to croon over the children and check everyone for scurvy and other illnesses, although they’ve been trading regularly to try and keep everyone healthy. When Luna and Bellamy bump into each other, they’re entirely polite, but the sly smile Luna gives Bellamy is more than enough to make him blush, and he’s not really the blushing sort.

When Luna calls for the ritual two days into their visit, Bellamy looks to Clarke, and sees her looking back at him. And when Luna asks (superficially, of course) for volunteers to complete the ritual, he and Clarke step forward together, as one (always, always as one), to accept.

\--

The ritual is this: the earth and the sky have been in hibernation through the winter. As the sun travels back north, it greets the earth, gracing it with its touch, allowing it to bear fruit once more. In theory, they celebrate the movement of the sun around the same time as their ancestors celebrated Easter, or Passover, or the birth of spring even earlier; now, although Easter seems to Bellamy to be something that is within living memory, they celebrate the coming of spring again, the dawn of early summer, the wealth of new possibilities.

The first part of the ritual doesn’t bother either Clarke or Bellamy in the slightest. It begins with ritual cleansing, and Clarke frankly revels in having her body scrubbed in the steam room, having someone else clean her hair. She thinks everyone should have the option of a personal spring cleaning, allowing the dry skin and mud to flake off until she once again feels clean and human. But it is reserved for the members of the ritual, and it is for this alone that she’s glad she was chosen.

Once the cleansing is done, she is given clothing to wear; it’s all loose linen, and she has no idea how old it is, or how the Floukru obtained it, but when she slips on the short dress, it smells of lavender, and the breath she takes in finally calms her. She is fully aware that the dress does little to hide her; like most linen, the shadows, the lines of her body are visible through the fabric, and as much as she wants to cover herself, she also finds herself unable to resist the flash that goes through her at knowing Bellamy will see her like this.

(if that flash is quickly followed by mortification knowing that _everyone else_ will see her like this, well, that’s neither here nor there)

She doesn’t have to see anyone else, at least not yet. When she’s finished dressing, Luna smiles at her, places a flower crown on her head, and says, “We’ll be waiting when you return.”

Clarke thinks she manages to nod steadily, but she can’t say that with any certainty. When she walks out of the tent, it’s to see Bellamy waiting for her. Like her, he’s wearing linen, although he is only wearing trousers, and although she’s seen him without a shirt a hundred times, seeing him like this still makes her mouth go dry. When she meets his eyes, his pupils are blown wide, and there’s a ruddy flush along his cheekbones. She gives him a crooked grin, and walks toward him. She laces their fingers, and off they go.

\--

When the sun graces the earth with its touch again, it brings about fertility. It brings about new life. Bellamy and Clarke aren’t expected to bring about their own new life, but their consummation as part of the ritual is supposed to bless the crops, to be a symbolic act that generates life and blesses the crops.

Bellamy couldn’t care less if others think this is okay; what he knows, and what Clarke knows, is that this is something they’ve been hurtling towards, by hook or by crook, and now that they’re here, there’s less electricity and more tension.

(and for all the time they spend together, for all the looks and touches and _feeling_ , this feels different, and they both know it)

They’ve talked about this, about all of this, going round and round for months, what it means not only to the Grounders, to the Skaikru, but what it means to _them_. Bellamy loves Clarke, has been in love with her for too long to comprehend. She’s broken his heart, and he’s broken hers, and they’re still together, partners, every step of the way. But they’ve never so much as said that to each other, until they’ve been faced with this.

What makes it better is that they agreed to this. They knew what was expected, and they agreed. And as much as there’s tension now, Bellamy also knows that, for now, they have a measure of privacy, a measure of intimacy as a result of this ritual.

(it will go beyond the ritual. of that, he is certain)

When they reach the freshly tilled earth, she looks over at him, gives him a shy smile. There are furs and blankets spread nearby, because Clarke insisted that, at the very least, she would not be getting freshly tilled soil in certain places, thank you very much, because if the ritual was entirely about the sun touching the earth, she didn’t need the actual, physical earth touching her in places that would lead to discomfort and infection.

Bellamy’s glad that she pushed for that, honestly.

The sun is starting to set, the last rays glancing out through the trees, and the light is magical. When Clarke gently tugs him toward the furs, she turns to face him, and the light haloes her head, lighting up the brightest threads of her hair, and if he were a different man, he’d believe she _was_ the sun.

(and maybe she is; brilliant and necessary and cruel and harsh and unforgiving but so, so vital to everything he is)

She smiles at the awe in his face, and she’s overtaken by affection, reaching for his face. He must have shaved again recently, because his face doesn’t bear the usual stubble she would expect at this time of day. She lets her thumbs caress his cheekbones softly, and he kisses the insides of her wrists, and they’ve talked everything to death and in spite of their sobriety, now that they are here, now that they’ve arrived at this moment, it seems like everything is sliding into place, and whether it’s the feeling of the ritual all around them, or whether it’s just the ambrosia of _them_ , it seems entirely right, and easy.

(even though neither of them believes in the ritual, it seems that every breath they take is embodied with significance, that the air is rich and weighted with the feeling of beginning, of creating something holy and precious. she doesn’t know how, but she thinks, just for a moment, that the ritual isn’t the thing they’re doing, it _is_ them, and she can’t make sense of it, but she just _feels_ ).

When Bellamy bites gently at the thin skin of her wrist, she gasps quietly into the space between them, her eyes fluttering closed and her pulse fluttering fast. Bellamy looks at her, at the way she seems radiant, and he feels, just for a moment, like he could be the earth; ever-changing, but constant and sturdy, full of possibility, and he nudges his nose against her cheek breathing her in, the smell of earth and spring and lavender and her breath on his cheek is the wind in the trees, in the prairie grasses they saw when they shut down the nuclear silos, the breeze that blows the mist off the ocean. She mouths along his jaw, her lips surprisingly soft, and the feeling, the overwhelming sensation has him wanting to fall to his knees, but he stays, holding her to him, and when she reaches his mouth, he presses his lips to hers, and it feels holy, and he can’t explain it, but they are here, and it is everything.

For all that they have both been waiting for this for what seems to many like years, there is no hurry between them. Clarke lets Bellamy explore her mouth, tongue brushing alongside hers, and she feels warmed from the inside out, feels heat and electricity race through her veins, but it’s like honey rather than like lightning; it is a slow, warming build that has her scratching lightly at the hair at the base of his neck, and when he groans softly, she smiles against his lips, and when he moves his way down her neck, she sighs.

When he reaches her breasts, he mouths at her over the linen dress, and the slight scritch of it over her nipples, combined with the warmth of his mouth causes her head to loll back slightly, and then Bellamy bears her down to their nest, his pace quickening as his eagerness grows.

When the front of her dress seems dampened to his liking, he moves back up, and Clarke nips at the tendons along his throat, and he growls quietly, in the back of his throat, and she sucks ever so lightly at his throat, just enough for the bruise to blossom, and everyone already knows he is hers and she is his, but now there will be _evidence_ of their desire for each other, and she can feel the fire in her blood quickening. She licks into Bellamy’s mouth again, tugging ever so slightly on his hair, and when he backs away, she whines, until he moves down her body, and when his mouth centers on her cunt, she feels the first flashes of light behind the backs of her eyes. He takes his time, mouthing at her, lapping up some of her wetness, and she can’t decide whether she wants him to stay slow or hurry up, but when he settles his mouth on her clit, easing first one, then two fingers inside her, it’s everything, and when he intensifies the movement of his fingers, the sensation of his tongue on her clit, it takes very little time before she’s panting and crying out, and it’s no longer slow honey in her veins, it’s a lightning storm, and when he crooks his fingers, it flashes through her veins, hard, and it feels like a small explosion goes off in her brain, lighting up her body from her toes to her fingertips.

Bellamy eases her through the last of the aftershocks, and once she gets too sensitive, she nudges him lightly, and he works his way back up her body. The sun is all but gone now, and she is basking in the orange and red glow of the sunset, and he thinks she’s even more gorgeous now. She kisses him fiercely, hungrily, and when she reaches into his pants, her calloused hands wrapped around his dick, he feels his eyes roll back in his head. She grins at him, the satisfaction evident on her face, and when she brings her hand back out of his trousers to spit in it, he feels a familiar rush of affection and amusement towards her, until she jacks him, hard, and, “Fuck, Clarke,” he grinds out, feeling overstimulated and on edge. She eases off again, before taking up firm strokes, twisting her hand intermittently, but not regularly. When he starts to pant in earnest, she increases the pace until he’s spurting over his stomach and her hand, the coil of tension in his spine snapping and he’s blinded, momentarily, trying to recover. When he opens his eyes again, Clarke is getting one of the blankets and cleaning him up gently, and it’s so oddly _tender_ after what she just did, and it makes him laugh, just a little. She smiles up at him before lying down and resting her head against him.

“We can’t be done, you know,” she says, almost teasingly. “We haven’t done the correct deed to fertilize the crops.”

Bellamy snorts. “I might need a minute or two,” he says.

She curls tighter against him. “Take all the time you need,” she says drowsily, and he pets along her arm as she falls asleep, the darkness closing around them.

\--

When she wakes up, it’s because Bellamy has started a fire, and while she doesn’t feel him wrapped around her like when she was falling asleep, the warmth and brightness of the fire wakes her slowly.

Bellamy is quietly moving around their nest, rearranging furs and blankets, and he smiles down at her, affection clear on his face, when he sees she’s awake.

What’s underlying all of this, all the familiarity, is this: they’ve been together, on and off, sleeping together when they need comfort, need release, for months now, and as much as everyone is giving them shit for participating in this ritual, for _volunteering_ , she knows it started out almost as a game of chicken, to see if one of them would break down and say anything about what they mean to each other, but it’s taken them until now, and – she doesn’t want to stop after this. She wants for this to be _real_ , not the effect of stress or exhaustion, or the ritual, but for their partnership to be whole, binding them together, and it’s silly for a ritual they don’t believe in to be the cause, but here they are.

There’s too much riding them every day for the pressure of others’ eyes, not when their relationship is their own safety net, the one consistent thing, and they’ve needed it, the privacy, to sort themselves out. She’s been glad of it, glad of the quiet nights when her hands have learned his body, when she’s fallen asleep curled against him, feeling _safe_ for the first time in years, since before they got to the ground, since before she was put in the Sky Box. There’s nothing like the contentment and joy of being wrapped up in him, and the quietness with which he pets her hair, nuzzles against her – she wouldn’t trade having had that feeling, even if it’s only when one of them needs it, for anything. But now – now, she _could_. She thinks Bellamy knows it, too, maybe even wants it, but - it’s something they’re both tentative about that, excited and nervous in equal measure.

Still, when she looks at him, she sees the same affection that she saw when she glanced across the fire years ago, to look at his burned and battered face after she closed the dropship door on him. Now, though, the affection has deepened, his face has healed, and he is truly a man, a king; someone who has walked through hell and kept moving, and has had her back through equal misery and delight. He is everything, in this moment, and her heart is so full, so warm and comforted and _loved_ , just thinking about him, that she almost can’t take the feeling.

It’s then that she sits up, lets the fur fall away from her, and beckons him to her. His eyes darken, and it’s with a look of admiration and desire that he joins her on the fur, mouth at her neck, brushing his tongue and teeth along the delicate skin there. She shivers, just a little, under his ministrations, dropping her head back to give him access. As much as the sensation threatens to swamp her, she gently tugs on his hair, brings his lips up to hers. They share breath for just a moment before she pulls back. Her hands stay on his face, tracing the scars and lines he has now.

“Bellamy, I – I don’t want this to be done when the ritual is over,” she says, her breath hitching ever so slightly over the words. She feels suddenly very young, very vulnerable. She hasn’t given her heart to anyone in so long, but she knows it’s because he’s held it in his rough hands for so long. Telling him so doesn’t make it new or different; it just makes it raw and honest and _real_.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and she feels her pulse pick up, her nerves rising. When she chances a look at his face, he looks stunned, but underlying that is the gleam of awe, of affection that she’s so used to, and it steadies her. When he comes back to himself, he kisses her fiercely, and she rises to meet him. When he breaks away, he’s grinning, eyes closed, his calloused hands holding her hands to his face. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing for months,” he says, laughing a little. “Every time I leave your tent, I think I leave another piece of my heart with you, Clarke. It’s yours, now. I think it’s maybe always been yours, but I know it’s yours now.”

She’s laughing a little now, even as she tears up, and it seems like it’s a little too easy, honestly, after so much strife, but she can hardly argue with the awestruck look on his face, so she leans back in to kiss him, hands tangled in his hair and bearing him down to the furs.

Her breasts rub against his chest, creating friction that lights her up; the groan Bellamy gives her is proof of his own pleasure, as is the growing hardness of his dick against her thigh. She’s grinding down against his stomach, just a little, the sheer relief of knowing that they have something together, something that goes forward permanently from here has her a little desperate, and it’s not long before she’s easing herself down on him, whimpering a little at the feeling of him seated deep inside her. It’s not the first time, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good, and this time, it’s good mentally as much as it is physically, and as she starts to ride him, she feels every cell in her body lighting up faster than she thought possible.

When Bellamy sits up a little, starts thrusting up into her as she grinds down, he gets one hand between them, and as he works at her clit, she feels the sensations threatening to overwhelm her, and as she clenches down on him, she hears him groan, and it spurs her over the edge. After a few more sloppy thrusts, Bellamy follows. When he’s spent, he sits up fully, burying his head in her neck and breathing her in. She can feel him softening inside her, and she knows she needs to go clean up a little, but for another second, she wants to feel fully entwined with him.

\--

They wake up with the sun, and when Clarke sleepily opens her eyes, it’s to see Luna staring down at them, a smile playing at her lips.

“Good to see you completed the ritual,” she says. “When you’re ready, get dressed and we’ll take you back.”

Clarke knows they need to get up, knows the ritual is only half complete, that they have additional duties to attend to that evening, but even as she knows that, she just wants to stay here, wrapped up in Bellamy for as long as she can.

When she starts to roll out of his hold, his arm tightens around her, and it’s clear he wants the same thing that she does; peace, quiet, and the other person. Still, he lets her go after pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, and they both find their clothing and throw it back on before heading out to find Luna. Clarke’s flower crown has been scattered amongst their bedding, and she’s certain they’re both covered in pollen (as is the tradition), but as she walks hand-in-hand with Bellamy, she can’t find it in her to care.

They arrive back in their small village to cheers and wolf-whistles, and some resignation on the part of Abby and Kane (Abby takes one look at their joined hands, at the pollen across their bodies, and gives a small grimace that Clarke and Bellamy both ignore). Clarke ducks her head and blushes, and Bellamy gives his characteristic wry grin, before blowing a kiss to Murphy, who’s making the most noise of them all. Clarke laughs at that, and the spell of awkwardness is broken. 

Even though it’s only just morning, there are people setting up food and drink, and children playing around the maypole. The festivities only truly begin once the Sun and the Earth have consummated their relationship again, and now that Bellamy and Clarke have performed this part of the ritual, the day can commence.

It’s a busy, loud, chaotic, and delightful day; there are times when Clarke wishes they could sneak off for a nap, but it seems that their presence is required, and all of their friends want to get in the expected jibes about their appearance. They take it all in stride, hands clasped under the table, and no one seems to mind if they’re a little reticent.

It is late in the evening when Luna lights the fire, and signals to Clarke and Bellamy. This is the last of their duties before they can be excused from their honorary positions, and it’s easy enough for them to link hands again and jump over the fire together, the final fertility rite they need to perform to ensure that the crops will be good. On the other side of the fire, they pause to catch their breath, and when Bellamy looks down at Clarke, sees laughter and firelight in her eyes, he can’t help but reach down to kiss her again, just for the sake of it. She laughs into the kiss, and raises their joined hands at the hollers they receive, her grin blinding.

They head off for the evening shortly thereafter, sinking into Clarke’s bed and sleeping peacefully through the night, tangled up with each other and exhausted from the festivities. When they wake in the morning, it is once again to sunlight, but rather than being pulled away from each other, Clarke nuzzles further into Bellamy’s chest and hums just a minute before succumbing to sleep again, safe in the knowledge that the ritual had done exactly what she’d hoped: provide certainty of new beginnings, of love and comfort.

\--

When they next volunteer for the ritual, they have something different in mind. They have a pair of tattoos on their right and left arms, and now, several years later, when they are ushered off to a nest of furs, it is with the hope that they will have a good harvest, and that nine months later, the first Griffin-Blake will arrive in the world. They don’t believe in the ritual any more than they used to, but they tease each other about it helping, and it certainly doesn’t hurt.


End file.
